Absent from Myself

I know that my body is alive – that I move my legs to walk,  my lips to speak, my mouth to eat. I know that my ears can hear and my eyes can see. I know that I am functioning, and on some days, that is good enough. But on days like today, when all I am capable of is lying in front of a brightly coloured box that shows pictures, makes noises and acts as constant reminder of what I am reduced to, the functioning becomes existing and existing hurts.

Functioning can lift my spirits, Existing kills my soul.

The television becomes my meditation – if I can just focus on the words and the movements then I can stop the tears from coming, the anger from exploding, the breakdown from taking hold. But it doesn’t stop the pain, nor does it halt the isolation, the hopelessness, the despair. Another day of my life passing, another day of my life surviving, another day of my life I won’t get back.

My soul is dormant, and for today, I am useless in trying to do anything to try and rouse it.

For today, I will wait for sleep to come.

 

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